


Come At ( Comet ) Me

by charkbites



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: BUT I NEVER UPLOADED IT HERE C RIes, I HOPE HTIS IS OK TBH I FEEL LIKE THIS IS ONE OF MY BEST WORKS YET H AH A .. .., I WROTE THIS AND POSTED THIS ON TUMBLR WAY BACK IN NOV FOR SOMEONE'S BIRTHDAY, M/M, i never tagged it either, is this fandom dead btw, is this ship still a crazy crackship cause like otp, ofc tho bc i love that someone so much, welp im doing all of it now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7404301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charkbites/pseuds/charkbites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fudou Akio is a falling comet that hits Fubuki before he can even think to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come At ( Comet ) Me

**Author's Note:**

> SCREAMS VERY LOUDLY ABOUT FUDOFUBU PLEASE. TO WHOEVER THAT EVER READS THIS : IF U LIKE THIS SHIP, COME TALK TO ME @charkbites.tumblr.com BC I WIL L!!!! YE LL !!!! DANKEE

Fudou Akio is a falling comet.

Fudou Akio enters his life unexpectedly swift; an anomaly, a too sudden drop of the roller coaster that catches him off guard, plummets his heart straight down to his stomach. It is unbelievingly exhilarating, heart thrumming one-two-three times per second, a rhythm so new to him that he is left silently flustered, with blatant reds scattering across his cheeks as his breath stutters in his chest. Hands shake like the gently quivering leaves on a windy day; a storm is brewing inside him, an ever expanding tornado that manifests within, grows with the feelings — he hadn’t expected this. Had never expected himself to react in this way, with weak, buckling knees and his stomach churning like a shredder, tearing apart all the logic and reason he has ever had. People say that love is blind, stupid, ridiculous, and Fubuki has never known why it is so.

They are so _young_. They are but fumbling teenagers with an infinite amount of passion locked deep inside their hearts, waiting to be unlocked, waiting to be released. The first time he had met Fudou Akio, a striking impression had been made. Hair a mixture of brown and white hues, styled toward the right, Fubuki hadn’t been able to help the thought: Fudou’s hair reminded him of a bushy squirrel tail, soft-looking and fluffy, with a similar colour combination — falling in strands over the side of a sinister face, a powerful glare and a defensive glower. His voice had been the epitome of the word venom, dripping poison that burned through skin, cut into hearts. Merciless; an unforgiving, hardened lilt to his words, and he had wondered, _what could have possibly made someone his age talk like this, act like this, become like this?_

What could have happened that would ingrain the _kill or be killed_ reasoning into such a young boy? What had made Fudou begin to fight tooth and nail for himself, to bar anyone from ever breaking down his walls, to make sure every single crevice inside him has been covered with strength, bones tough and unbreakable? Why had Fudou chosen to let himself be flooded with fight or flight responses at every moment, uncaring of whether the sun rises or dies in the horizon, whether the stars stick themselves to the skies or the clouds linger to bathe in the warmth of the sun, whether the moon hangs itself in the dead quiet of the night, giving illumination to those who lived the night life? ( Once, Fubuki had accidentally come across Fudou sleeping. It had been the most peaceful sight of Fudou he has ever seen — even then, too many shadows had crossed the closed off expression, brows pressed together and body tense, a self-defense mechanism that he knows people have when distrusting of everyone around them.

He had tried pulling a blanket over the other. Fudou had almost taken his head right there and then. )

Still, he believes that Fudou is chasing something that Fubuki cannot see. He believes that not all is lost for Fudou, not everything has burned quietly into ash; he thinks the wildfire that is Fudou Akio is stemmed from something that he doesn’t know, but wants to find out. ( Why is he so curious? It is something that he cannot find an answer to. )

The question of _why_ has plagued him ever since. Each lingering glance, each lurch of the heart, each stomach flip — why? Why does his eyes seek out Fudou’s at every possible moment, why does his heart tighten, why does he ache?

They are so young.

It is only when Fudou tugs him aside, stumbling legs pushing past the practice ball as he leads him away from the team, that Fubuki starts to understand _why_. His gaze is ice cold, but the longer Fubuki stares at the greyish-green hues, the harder he focuses on the blazing connecting dots that concentrate into a single black spot in the middle of slanted eyes, the more his breaths start to elude him, stuttering beats in his chest that come apart like a falling melody. He cannot help but feel overly conscious of it all, then — He is a teenager, barely grazing the age of 15. They’re all crazy about a sport that somehow pulls them tightly together, binds their hearts as one, even if problems arise. Fudou is someone who doesn’t trust the team, Fubuki knows this: everyone does. But the team trusts him still. Trusts him because Endou does, because Endou says to. Trusts because Kidou eventually learns to do the same.

Fubuki doesn’t trust for any of those reasons, even though they are contributing factors. Fubuki trusts because he believes, because his gut twists in a way that tells him to just do it, because his mind spins confusingly yet all too clearly, because he just has a feeling. ( A lot of feelings, feelings that burn and chip away at his heart, feelings that stack like lego blocks upon one another, feelings that float up like sky lanterns, bringing his most inner wishes up up up into his throat to form as words, that threaten to spill out of his lips. )

Fudou’s hands look like they may freeze him over further, but the grip he has on Fubuki’s wrist is warm, sizzling sparks that bring up goosebumps, causing the air to hitch helplessly somewhere in his chest. He feels hot all over, dizzying temperatures that heat up the flow of blood within him into molten lava, a burning trail that touches every single spot that can be sought out.

“What are you doing?”

It’s a good question. He doesn’t have the slightest bit of an idea. What is he doing? What is he doing with these fragile feelings for a fragile boy, that he apparently has gotten without even noticing — What does he _plan_ on doing?

When he looks at Fudou proper, though, he knows it is a question that has multiple layers to it. Fudou doesn’t understand. His brows are furrowed and his gaze is defensive, confused, aggressive. He doesn’t trust Fubuki, doesn’t trust anyone, doesn’t want to ever trust again. He probably would doubt the goodwill of people in an instant, would possibly never come to accept that someone could be unconditionally nice to another. But Fubuki doesn’t want to lie, has never planned on lying, and – and he doesn’t want to _give up_.

So he whispers, in a tiny voice and with unmasked fear, “ _I don’t know._ ” It is the truth, and it reflects only the most genuine parts of himself. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, so he’ll tell Fudou that. And he sees the glare dissipate, the press between the other’s brows parting, as does his lips — Fudou looks incredibly caught off guard, unsure and unsteady as his fists clench and unclench. This is the smallest he has ever seen his teammate, he realises, when his walls have slipped in surprise. Then the glare comes back twice-fold, and he bites down on his lip nervously.

“What does that mean?” It comes out harsh, even as his ears ring with the uncertainty and suspicion present within the words. Fubuki pauses, tries to slow his quickening breaths as he flickers his eyes downward to linger on the crest of Raimon etched onto their jerseys; Fudou is a part of Raimon, just like Fubuki. The team has an unlimited amount of strength when together, and even more so under the lead of their captain. He knows his companion cannot see it yet, has not quite brought himself out of the dark and into the light, but Fubuki has. He has been there, shadows clawing at him to bring him down under, head pounding with pain as the fear creeps up on him and seizes him into paralysis, unable to bring himself to kick a simple ball from all the trauma he’s been through. But he has gotten past that, has freed himself from the chains with the help of Raimon, and he wants Fudou to experience that too, to know what it feels like to be released from the clutches of the past after struggling for a long time — It is unbelievingly _relieving,_ it is a kind of happiness obtained after finding oneself again.

“I don’t know,” he repeats, a mere whisper this time, but his gaze when he meets Fudou’s darkened hues is soft, lighted up with hope, and wishes of stardust scattered across the night sky. Far away, unattainable, impossible to get; but he thinks they belong there, right by the burning sun and the blinking moon, a dream that exists to light up his world, to give him something to work for and something to look forward to. ( And who knows, who knows. Maybe one day they will reach there, maybe they will take a rocket ship or start to float. Maybe the sky lanterns will collect their wishes and glue the scattered pieces together before coming back down to earth. Maybe the world will turn upside down and they will meet their dreams halfway — but for now dreams belong in dreams, and dreams are not a fragment of reality. That’s okay. He is okay with that. )

He thinks he is longing. He is aching with want, shaking with silent fervor. His cheeks warm from the heat of it all but it is not out of embarrassment, or flattery, or anything of the sort. He is just simply burning from inside out, set on fire, melting, and he wishes to leave only the feelings he has in his wake, when the flame dies out. Fubuki is at the peak of his courage and he knows that if he does not say it now, does not try to express even a small percentage of what he feels for Fudou, he will regret it.

Tone low, a mere breathless, hoarse murmur, he ducks his head. Eyes the colour of murky clouds, of striking hues similar to Fudou’s start to fill with fear — _God,_ he is so afraid. He is quaking with hesitance, knees and arms losing their strength, but he likes to think that they have just donated all that they have to his heart. He needs all the bravery he can get right now, even if he can barely stand from the intensity of the situation. He wants to get across to Fudou, so badly.

“I don’t know, Fudou-kun, I _don’t —_ ” And his voice dips at the word, threatens to crack into a million smaller pieces, but he continues on, pushes through with a deep breath. “I really … don’t know what I’m doing, but there is something I want you to know, something that I _do_ know, and. I think I _feel_ something for you, Fudou-kun. I feel a lot of somethings, it scares everything out of me but I can’t help myself, it’s too much, it’s overwhelming, and I think – I think I _like_ you.”

Biting down on his lip as his cheeks flush further, he tries his level best to ignore the sudden, deep inhale that registers in his ears as he tangles his fingers together, trying hard to cease the ridiculous shaking. It doesn’t make sense, even to him; they don’t know anything about each other. They’re on the same team, but they’ve never really interacted aside from the snide remarks Fudou sometimes shoots at him or the occasional pair up from practices. Their communication is strained, minor, but there somehow exists a curiosity that eats at him, pushes him deep into a quicksand of want and an erupting volcano of yearning. There is no way he can keep this all contained inside him. Though, he doesn’t _really_ know where to go from here, doesn’t know how to deal with crushes and actually liking someone so much that he feels he may lose himself at any time.

“I want … I want to get to know you,” he continues, whisper soft. “I know something happened before, Fudou-kun, but. Please, just. Trust me, trust us, we mean no harm. You’re a part of our team, and I know how it feels like to be alone, and I know maybe it feels better that way, but please, let me in. I – I really like you. I don’t know why I do, I just want to help, _try_ to help, if you … if you’d let me.”

Tearing his gaze from the jutting bones of his fingers, he finally looks up, desperately attempting to get his feelings across proper; he is telling the truth, and he wants, _needs_ Fudou to know that. Fubuki would never toy with something like this, would never lie about his feelings, would never …

When he looks into Fudou’s eyes, though, all he sees is a sea of calmness. No longer does a storm brew in those hues, temporarily oppressed as his companion stares at him with incredulity. Expression a blank canvas on the other, all Fubuki can think of is still something along the lines of how he wants to stay long enough to learn all the colourful faces Fudou is surely capable of making, wants to stay long enough to write unspoken stories and dig up new, unfound emotions together. ( It is an unbelievably cheesy thing – he had not known that he is this weak to romance, had not known that he could succumb to the same idiocy people speak of in books and movies this fast, this quick. )

“— Fine.”

It is unanticipated, coming unassured and sorely lacking in confidence, but his heart skips a beat anyway, inflates with so much unbidden hope that he thinks he may just sporadically combust from it all. He begins staring at Fudou openly, eyes blown wide and brows shooting for the stars as he blinks owlishly, disbelieving. _What,_ he thinks, and his lips follow the command, a silent shaping of the word — he is soundless, probably looking stupid gawking like this, but his heart picks up in its pace and his blood is a rhythmless rush in his ears; the beats inside his chest are heavy like drumming gongs, loud like crashing waves, an absolute disaster that messes him up completely.

The annoyance that passes Fudou’s face is familiar then, but the barest hint of the lightest reds scattering across his cheeks isn’t. He thinks the angels are singing a tune that he cannot hear, but can feel, and he reckons he may faint at any second, really.

“I said, _dweeb,_ okay. You can … try.” A small pause, before: “This is the only warning you’re gonna get though – It’s not going to be easy. You better be prepared to give up.”

 _But how could I ever give this up,_ he wonders, yet does not say. He is rooted to the spot, dizzy on his feet but so, so exhilarated — he is falling harder, harder, a far drop from wherever he had been up there, and it is all he can do to breathe out a wet laugh, hitches in his breath that causes the dam inside him to break, that causes the feelings to flow out unstoppably. He could never give this up, knows he could never, would never, not right now. To give Fudou up would be to give himself up, and Fubuki does not want that.

“Fudou-kun, I —” It is literally impossible to finish his sentence, as the words clog in his throat and an uncontrollable sniffle escapes his lips. The other looks bewildered by this, but he cannot stop the onslaught of sentiments that invade his mind and spill out of his heart; in a fumbling mess, he throws his arms around the other, burying his face into the crook between neck and shoulder as his lips press to the beating, alive pulse that he can feel. The fluttering beats he counts are the only indication he has of Fudou feeling the exact same way he is, with messy feelings and an uncanny amount of tenderness, but he cannot _help_ it.

Fudou Akio is a falling comet that upsets the balance in his life, tips everything over and resets all the knowledge he has ever had of being in love. He makes a large, visible dent in Fubuki’s life, in Fubuki’s heart, and it is evidence of the fact that he exists there when the meteorite crashes and throws down the burning feelings that had been carried along. They are both frozen, north stars that trap the heat of the past within every nook and cranny inside them, but ultimately still seek warmth out with silent longing.

Too young they are, for this — some say it is mere puppy love, a fondness with unstable roots that will pass sooner than they can realise. They are not yet completely matured, do not know what it is really like being in love with someone, but Fubuki thinks, hopes, that this will last longer than they expect it to. He pins a new wish up into the glittering night sky: he wants to prove all the people wrong. The roots are unsteady, but they reach deep, grasping onto his, _their_ hearts with tightness, unwilling to let go. He is going to try for this, for him, for them. They are too young, but the budding flower that settles itself within the confines of his ribcage and plants seeds of each and every new memory that they make will only serve to grow more and more. He believes so, and knows so.

Fudou Akio is a falling comet, and they are much, much too young, but at least it is a trying love, and a love that is true for what it’s worth. He waits for the day that their wishes will come falling down like mini meteorites, and prepares himself to catch them readily; there is nothing that they cannot do as long as they’re together, even as the days lapse into months and dip into years. One day, dreams will come true.

( And they do come true, eventually. )

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO @twinenie idk if u read this before yet ?? cause i did post it on tumblr but FSHNHSDCJ I HOPE THIS IS GOOD ?? I DIDNT MAKE ANY EDITS


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